


High Society

by mutterandmumble



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dancing, Established Relationship, F/F, Fleeting Violence, Kissing, Pickpockets, Short One Shot, weird late 1700s setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 04:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16695637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutterandmumble/pseuds/mutterandmumble
Summary: She leans forwards and kisses her gently, with warmth but no heat, slow and languid and affectionate. At any other time, on any other day they would stay all wrapped up in each other, but there’s stolen money hidden in their hands so Kiyoko gently nips at Yachi’s lips only once before they part.-Or: Yachi Hitoka, Shimizu Kiyoko, and an average day in their lives





	High Society

**Author's Note:**

> GIRLS
> 
> This is a short stress-relief fic, but I’m happy enough with how it turned out.

Kiyoko is shifting her weight from foot to foot, playing with her fingers and tugging at her hair, but she is not nervous. She has no reason to be- she’s good at her job, and so is Yachi. The two of them work together like a well-oiled machine, melt into each other with ease and run a finely-tuned operation. She knows what she is doing. Yachi knows what she is doing. They have done this before, and they will do it again.

Kiyoko is not nervous. She is playing a part.

The streets are busy today, overflowing with people keeping their heads low and their pride under wraps. Busy streets are easy streets, easy streets to find, easy streets to navigate, and easy streets to twist to her advantage. She scans the crowd from her spot in the alleyways, mercilessly picking each person apart and making split-second decisions as to whether or not they are fit for her needs.

The children are no good. She will not steal from a child. Nor will she steal from those like her, relying on torn layers and smudges of dirt to keep out the chill. She will not steal from that mother who has a baby clutched to her chest. She will not steal from that father with his son clinging to his pantleg. The most she will ever take from those people is little bits of information about their lives, nothing substantial, nothing that they’ll miss.

She will use that information to pass judgement. She has no right, she knows, no right to decide who should be stolen from, but she is cold and she is hungry. She has people she wants to provide for. She is going to take what she needs, and as callous as this process of picking and choosing is, it is necessary. One wrong move, one wrong person stolen from and she invites guilt to worm its way into her mind. Guilt slows limbs. Her work requires agility and clarity; there is no room for something like guilt.

So she’s careful as she casts her gaze over the crowd and careful as she makes a decision.

A man is parting a path for himself through the crowd by use of a scowl and steel on the tips of his boots. He’s tall, with a silk overcoat and a smooth hat and gold-tipped cane. He snaps at the children who tumble into his path, turns his nose up at the vendors and their bread.

Perfect.

She weaves through the crowd, ducking into spaces and stepping on toes, throwing hurried apologies over her shoulder. She waits until the man is four, three, two steps away before she sends herself sprawling into his path.

Yachi will be on the move by now. They have a minute at the most, two if they’re lucky. If their timing is off by even a second than they pose a risk to their whole operation. 

Kiyoko stays on the ground long enough for her hair to be trampled into the dirt and for a steel-toed boot to sink into the soft flesh of her side. If Yachi saw that, it’s going to cost the man a little something more than he would have paid otherwise. For now though, she groans softly and turns over. She struggles to stand, penning the man in between the crush of people and her own body. Her hands scrabble for purchase against the gravel, scrape as she looks up him and schools her features into something resembling fear.

He’s even more repulsive up close. His scowl reveals yellowed and rotting teeth, his features twist, his eyes are bulging and bloodshot and contain not an ounce of kindness. There are many rings on his fingers. Kiyoko wonders if Yachi will manage to get her hands on one of those. Just one would get their little group food for months and rent for a good long while.

“Get up, girl,” he growls. One of those ring-heavy hands reaches for her shoulder and she flinches back. The set of his shoulders screams dissatisfaction and the lilt of his voice drips with contempt. His boot is inching dangerously close to her side again. “Up. Up,” he snaps. “I don’t have the time for this.”

He pulls back, turns just as Yachi starts tugging a small pouch from his pocket. Fear flashes in her eyes as she holds the bag to her chest, lunges forwards and wrenches Kiyoko up. 

“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” she gasps, quick and breathy as she pulls Kiyoko through the crowd. A cry raises behind them, a shout of _thieves!_ and the pounding of footsteps. “He saw me, he saw me! That hasn’t happened in years!” Yachi is falling apart, panicking, so Kiyoko takes the lead. They tear through the city, breaths coming in quick puffs as the crowd thins.

They run for longer, Kiyoko a mass of swirling skirts and inky hair and Yachi a disaster in pants and overalls with her hair tucked up under a cap. They’re both mobile enough; Sugawara insists that they check every time they leave for a job. Kiyoko’s grateful for that now as she pulls Yachi into an alleyway- not a dead end, of course, they’re both smarter than that- but narrow and dim and long. She tugs at the smaller girl’s hand, pulls her body flush to her own and lifts a finger to her lips.

“Shhh,” she whispers, winking.

Yachi turns bright red in her arms. She groans and lets her head thunk again Kiyoko’s chest, snuggling closer when she tightens her hold. Yachi fits very nicely in her arms- very, very nicely. She stays there, safe as a person can be, as thundering footsteps and loud voices race past the mouth of the alleyway.

They are careful. They are huddled together and close to the wall. Soon, it is silent.

Yachi lifts her head, slow and hesitant, ducking from Kiyoko’s embrace to creep forwards peek her head around the wall. Yachi is smaller than Kiyoko. Faster, too. She’s better suited to quick lookout jobs like these. That doesn’t stop Kiyoko from lamenting the loss of a warm body against her own, from mourning the loss of contact with the girl she loves. But soon enough Yachi is hurrying back, slipping her hand again into Kiyoko’s.

“That was terrifying,” she huffs.

“You did well,” Kiyoko hums, squeezing her hand. Yachi smiles at her, tremors still running the length of her spine. Her smile is stilted, nowhere near her eyes, borne of a mixture of fear and exhaustion. 

Kiyoko loves each and every one of Yachi’s smiles, but this one she could do without. She pulls Yachi close again, tucking her head beneath her chin.

“I was seen,” Yachi whispers, and she sounds so, so terrified that Kiyoko’s heart breaks a little. She knows that Yachi is anxious, that she sees the shadows that lurk at the edges of the light and tends towards the worse of things, but that doesn’t mean that she has to like it. If she had her way, Yachi’s smile would never be strained again

But Yachi will be strained again. Good as they are at their jobs, there is always the odd stroke of bad luck; there is always someone who turns a touch too fast, who feels fingers brush against their side and reacts. There is always risk, but reward is only earned if they play their cards right.

“It’s okay,” Kiyoko says. “We’ve all been seen at some point or another. _You’ve_ been seen before, and you’re still here, right? It’s okay, I promise. Now did you get your hands on anything good?”

Yachi shifts so she can draw a hand up between their bodies. Kiyoko feels little jolts of electricity from every point of contact. If they had not been seen, then she may well have decided that Yachi was more important than quickly returning to their base. But there’s no time now to draw Yachi close, to pull her hair loose and kiss her senseless. Later, maybe, they can steal away to the roof of their towering old apartment building, but they have to get there first.

Yachi drops a small drawstring pouch in her hand. It’s made of some thick, coarse material, heavy and lined with silk. The bag itself will pull a pretty price, but the gold pieces nestled inside of it are worth even more. It’s a good haul. It was worth being seen for, but it is not worth Yachi’s panic.

Nothing is worth Yachi’s panic. Not all the gold under the sun, not all the silver under the moon.  
Regardless, it is done now. Yachi has been seen and she has panicked, not for all of the gold under the sun but for some of it. 

“We’ve got to get this back to the group,” Kiyoko says, weighing the bag in her hand. 

“Already?” Yachi sighs, resting her head on Kiyoko’s chest. Kiyoko can’t stroke her hair, it’s covered by that hat still, but her hand does raise to the small of Yachi’s back. Struck by an idea, one that has her lips curling into a smile and her tilting her head up, she drops her other hand to pick up Yachi’s. The pouch lies crushed between their hands, fingers lacing over rough fabric and palms pressing together at the edges. Lightly Kiyoko pushes forwards and steps in with her left foot. Yachi instinctively follows.

They dance together down the alleyway. Kiyoko has classical training, comes from a formerly high-standing family and knows where to place her hands and her feet. Yachi was taught by Sugawara on one of those long nights when sleep refused to come. So they’re both confident as they dip and twirl, comfortable enough to let their steps fall fast and free as any semblance of structure crumbles and they move by each other’s will alone. Kiyoko’s hand rests low on Yachi’s back, lower than would be considered proper by any formal means but is more than welcome by the two of them.

The reach the end of the alleyway and Yachi slides her hand up Kiyoko’s side to loop around her neck. Her other hand stays firmly grasped in Kiyoko’s. Softly, she tugs down until Kiyoko’s face is in front of her own. She leans forwards and kisses her gently, with warmth but no heat, slow and languid and affectionate. At any other time, on any other day they would stay all wrapped up in each other, but there’s stolen money hidden in their hands so Kiyoko gently nips at Yachi’s lips only once before they part.

“Let’s get going,” Kiyoko says. “Koushi will start to worry if we’re out for too long, and then Shouyou will start to worry and then Yuu will try to calm them down and that won’t work at all-“ she screws up her face. 

Yachi giggles at that. “Alright,” She says. “Let’s go.”

And so they go, picking their way through the city. They keep their heads down and their wits about them, stay close and stay safe, never straying a foot or two from each other’s sides. Soon their crumbling base comes into view, rising high above the other buildings in the city. Their group, nothing more than a band of pickpockets five people strong, works from an apartment. All of their money pooled wouldn’t be enough to buy anything larger. Close-knit as they are, it gets difficult with all of them living in such a small space. Kiyoko would die for each and every one of them and they for her, but some privacy would be nice every now and then.

But they are all fond of the building. The roof is a nice vantage point, a good place to stand and look over the world and for a moment or two pretend that it sits in the palm of your hand. The floors are made of wood, far from comfortable to sleep on, but the five of them lay down blankets and huddle up to stay warm. The spaces between the bricks in the wall are nice handholds for when they have more energy than needed to climb the rickety staircase that leads to their unit.

Hinata has come in through the window more times than Kiyoko can count. Nishinoya, too. And Sugawara. All of them, really. They have far too much energy, live with a perpetual panic thrumming in their veins, always sit poised and ready to run.

Kiyoko remembers Yachi climbing through it once after a particularly high-stakes job. Her hands had trembled with adrenaline even after she tumbled to the floor. Kiyoko knows that night well because none of them had been able to sleep; every time Yachi dozed off, she had woken up screaming.  
That was the night Suga had taught her to dance. Kiyoko herself had taught Hinata and then Nishinoya. Dancing was a good skill for them all to have anyways, they had collectively reasoned, helpful for undercover missions.

And for burning off nerves after a job gone wrong. It’s much better than some of the other things that they have tried. Less destructive. 

There’s no need to go in through the window today. All their excess energy had been poured first into the dance and then into their rush through the city. Kiyoko helps Yachi up the staircase, slowly and carefully because the wooden planks are stacked precariously and held together by some messily hammered nails and the will of god alone. She gets in one last kiss before Yachi swings the door open and then they are home.

They walk together into the beginnings of a frenzy. Kiyoko had been right, Suga and Hinata are practically bouncing off the walls with panic, but they calm once they see the girls. Suga latches immediately onto Yachi’s arm, tugging the small girl further into their apartment, while Kiyoko is greeted with Hinata at her side as he worms beneath her arm and smiles.

Nishinoya is not there. Kiyoko vaguely recalls him saying something about saving up for another blanket- he’s likely out in the city now, scouring the markets for something cheap and warm. Kiyoko hopes he’ll be back soon. The four of them will be on edge, incomplete until he is looping his arm through one of theirs or draping himself over someone’s shoulders.

Even the small bag of gold will not tide them over. There’s no genuine security, not in body, thought or mind until it’s all five of them huddled up and fortified against the cold. They take on the world together, one hard-earned payment at a time. 

The four of them wait easily, they have experience with waiting, but the hollow feeling remains until Nishinoya drops through the window with a grunt and a blanket tucked beneath his arms.

“I’m home!” He says brightly, glancing around the room. He breaks into a wide grin when he sees Kiyoko and Yachi. “The girls are back! Did you two get anythin’ good?”

“Yep!” Yachi says, muffled from where her face is buried in the fabric of Suga’s shirt. She lifts her head, peers around the back of his neck to grin at Nishinoya. “We got our hands on some gold. I was seen, though.” She shudders, and Suga attempts to discreetly tighten his hold. Suga is many things, but he is not subtle. They all see him. “It was so scary!”

“Ohhhh! You didn’t tell us that you were seen,” Hinata says, ducking out from beneath Kiyoko’s arm to reach towards Nishinoya. He hums happily when the other boy drops his wares on the (very _clean_ , thank you) floor so he can wrap an arm around his shoulders.

“It worked out just fine in the end,” Kiyoko says. She stretches, stands to join Nishinoya and Hinata. “We got enough to last us a good long time, too. No more high-stakes jobs for a while.”

“Good,” Nishinoya groans, interlocking his pinkie with her own. He winks, swings their now joined hands between them. “We deserve a break.”

It’s true. They very much deserve a break. 

Kiyoko loves their group jobs, she does, the way the spread into corners and scatter throughout crowds, a net that hides in plain sight and closes ever closer. She loves the way that their eyes flash, how even Yachi comes across as something _else_ when she walks her fingers along the hewn wood of a tavern counter and slips the odd piece of gold into her pocket. But she also loves when they can wind down, when they sit close and play cards and the others yell at her and Yachi to get a room or at _least_ a corner when Kiyoko sees it fit to start peppering the smaller girl’s face with kisses. Which is often. Very often.

They deserve a break, so Kiyoko and her friends and her girlfriend will sit together with their newly acquired gold pieces and they will laugh and love and live. The blanket Nishinoya brought back is warm and large, the perfect size for three of them at once. After quick squabble that ends with Suga on the floor and Nishinoya halfway out the window, Kiyoko, Yachi, and Hinata emerge victorious with the soft fleece wrapped around their shoulders. They’ll rotate later, Kiyoko is sure, time will pass and it will be Suga pressed into her side and Nishinoya sprawled over Yachi’s lap, but for now she lets Hinata rest his head on her shoulder as she drops a light kiss onto Yachi’s head.

The smaller girl twists in her lap so they can kiss fully, to the mock-disgusted yells of the others in the room. They break apart, Kiyoko laughing slightly and Yachi’s eyes shining.

“Later,” she whispers softly. Her hand traces small circles on Kiyoko’s cheek.

“Later,” Kiyoko agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> I like this setting. Maybe I’ll write a series of oneshots or something for it.


End file.
